


here and now and everything else

by TechnicalTragedy (orphan_account)



Category: iKON (Korea Band)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hugs, Introspection, M/M, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-10 23:14:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15959618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/TechnicalTragedy
Summary: He doesn’t know why he calls Jiwon. Of everyone, he calls Jiwon.





	here and now and everything else

**Author's Note:**

> a deviation from my usual smut. i’m going thru a big ol writer’s block right now but i’m up in my feelings so i was able to crank something out real quick.
> 
> enjoy~

He doesn’t know why he calls Jiwon. Of everyone, of all Junhoe’s friends and family and even the people who would pick up just to laugh at him, he calls Jiwon.

 

The phone rings and rings, but Junhoe is just drunk enough not to lose courage.

 

It stops ringing. They sit in silence.

 

Junhoe can hear Jiwon breathing on the other end, little sharp inhales every so often like he’s about to say something, but he never does. The quiet drags on into the night, and if Junhoe squints he can see it. It hangs over him like a cloud of gnats, swimming and darting across his vision, and if he could just be brave enough he could reach up and swat it away.

 

“I miss you,” Junhoe says without meaning to.

 

Jiwon sighs.

 

The cloud over Junhoe’s head reforms.

 

He hears bugs chirruping, present even in the thick of the city. Passers by ignore him, write him off as just another sloppy drunk talking to himself in the gutter. Maybe he is. He’s not sure he knows himself much anymore.

 

“You’re drunk,” Jiwon finally says. “Where are you?”

 

Junhoe glances around himself, trying to find any kind of landmark. He eyes the sign closest to him, trying to remember the most recent bar he’d been asked to leave. “I think. Ha. I think the place we met.”

 

Another sigh from Jiwon, and if Junhoe were sober he might even say it sounded fond.

 

“Stay where you are,” Jiwon says.

 

The line goes dead in Junhoe’s hand. It takes a few seconds before he realizes it, and he fumbles his phone back into his pocket.

 

He leans back, trying to see the stars through all the lights.

 

A gentle shaking startles him awake.

 

Jiwon is looking down at him, giving him a careful, brittle smile. Junhoe is blown away at seeing Jiwon in person. It’s been months, maybe almost a year since -

 

Oh. Today was the one year mark.

 

“Come on,” Jiwon says, pulling Junhoe away of the pit of memory he was on the precipice of. “Let’s get you off the street.”

 

Junhoe lets Jiwon tug him to his feet, steady him, lead him to a familiar car and help him into a familiar passenger seat. Jiwon’s fingers trail over Junhoe’s forehead, and Junhoe has to close his eyes against the ache that rises in his chest.

 

Jiwon starts a drive they’ve both taken a hundred times before.

 

It feels like the first time every time.

 

Junhoe leans his head against the window, not caring how it rattles his skull. He lets his vision unfocus, lets the street lamps turn to a soft, hazy glow, sees all blurry chem trails and luminescent strips.

 

The radio is turned down low, as opposed to the usual ear-wrecking volumes that Junhoe knows Jiwon prefers. He hates that he remembers that fact. He hates that he has all these pieces of Jiwon even a year later. Junhoe knows how there are two fans in Jiwon’s room because he runs hot when he sleeps. He knows what Jiwon looks like when no one is looking, when he’s sleeping, when he’s just woken up and is all rumpled and soft. He knows Jiwon’s favorite chipped mug that was a birthday gift from years ago. He knows that Jiwon prefers mismatched socks, that he steals hoodies and will claim not to while wearing them, that he doesn’t drink coffee but could have hot chocolate with every meal, that he love game shows, that he sucks at making noodles, that he doesn’t eat seafood.

 

Unravel him, strip him to his bones, break open his ribcage, and in every piece of Junhoe you would find pieces of Jiwon. From his cells to his soul, Junhoe is made of memories. He doesn’t know how to forget, how to unlearn loving someone.

 

Jiwon parks. He assists Junhoe up a staircase, then another and another. He opens a door.

 

And Junhoe is home.

 

Amazingly, desperately, hopelessly home.

 

He wants to cry, and he’s drunk, so he might just  start without warning.

 

Jiwon guides Junhoe back to the office with the foldout bed. He gets Junhoe out of his gross, dirty, alcohol-scented clothes and into pajamas that smell intoxicatingly of Jiwon. He makes the foldout bed and refuses Junhoe’s clumsy attempts to help.

 

He pushes Junhoe into bed.

 

“Get some rest. We can talk in the morning,” Jiwon says. His lips part like he’s going to say more, but he just smiles and turns out the light.

 

Junhoe falls asleep before he has time to soak up being back at his favorite place in the world.

 

He dreams of one year ago. He dreams of the happiest days of his life and the saddest. He holds Jiwon’s hand and lets it go for the last time.

 

Morning comes with little fanfare.

 

Junhoe stares at the ceiling, hungover and made sicker by the knowledge that he’s made an ass of himself. When he turns his head, he notices aspirin and water waiting for him on the desk and wants to weep with relief.

 

When he drags himself from bed, sore and tired and hurting for every reason, Junhoe finds Jiwon making breakfast in the kitchen.

 

The domesticity of it is a knife to the chest.

 

Jiwon gives Junhoe a bright grin. “You should have time for a shower before the food is done.”

 

And Junhoe just nods and does what Jiwon says.

 

The shower restores some of his strength, with the added benefit of giving him some time to think. He doesn’t know why Jiwon is being this nice to him. He doesn’t know why Jiwon picked up the phone in the first place last night. Junhoe would still do anything for Jiwon, but he’d been positive ever since Jiwon broke up with him that they were done with each other in every way forever.

 

But sometimes it’s nice to be wrong.

 

Jiwon sits him at the table when Junhoe is done with his shower.

 

They eat a quiet, delicious breakfast. Jiwon has gotten better at cooking in the past year. Something about that makes Junhoe’s heart throb painfully.

 

Junhoe insists on washing the dishes when they’re done. It gives him something to do.

 

When there’s nothing left except each other, they stare across the kitchen wordlessly at one another, unsure of how to start or what to say. It’s been too long. Everything has changed but everything is the same.

 

Jiwon wets his lips. “We should talk,” he says.

 

It’s like Junhoe’s ribs collapse, like he’s witnessing the end of the world.

 

He nods.

 

They go to Jiwon’s room and shut the door, as if they aren’t the only ones there. It feels suffocating in here, like the air is heavy with their history. Like the walls remember that very last time they were alone together.

 

“I don’t know why I came to get you last night, before you ask,” Jiwon blurts. “I don’t know why I did it. But I did, and I would do it again.”

 

Junhoe swallows. “Do you know what yesterday was?” he asks. He doesn’t want to know the answer, really, but he asks anyway.

 

Jiwon’s eyes fall to the floor. He nods.

 

“I don’t think I’ve been happy for even a second since you broke up with me,” Junhoe says.

 

Jiwon looks up at him.

 

Junhoe inspects his nails like they’re the most interesting thing in the world. “I had this whole thing planned out, actually. When I saw you again, I was going to tell you how good I was doing, and how happy I was even without you. But I’m not.” He digs his nails into his palms. “And I don’t tell you this to like, make you feel like an asshole. It’s just. You took care of me last night even though I really didn’t deserve it. So i figured I should be honest.”

 

“I haven’t been having a great time, either,” Jiwon admits.

 

Junhoe meets his eyes.

 

Half of their conversations are made up of silence, Junhoe feels. They stand on their sides of a pit and just looks at each other, both wanting the other to build a bridge but neither moving to do so. It’s what broke them up in the first place, this insistence on not being the one to bend first.

 

“I meant it when I said I miss you,” Junhoe says.

 

Jiwon swallows, visible even from across the pit.

 

“I miss you, too, June.”

 

And June does the only thing he can think of. The only thing that makes sense.

 

He steps forward and hugs Jiwon.

 

Instantly, they’re embracing, Jiwon’s arms tight around Junhoe’s back and Junhoe’s fingers buried in Jiwon’s hair. They fit together perfectly, exactly how Junhoe remembered. Junhoe buries his face in the side of Jiwon’s throat, breathes deep. He feels surrounded by Jiwon, feels every bit of mangled, jagged hurt fading away. He’d longed for this on every lonely night. Sure, he missed the kissing and the sex, but what Junhoe had needed more than anything was to be held like he was something precious. Like he was everything.

 

“I’m sorry,” Jiwon says. “I’m sorry.”

 

Junhoe kisses Jiwon’s neck on instinct, finding his pulse point and seeking comfort in the proof that Jiwon is here and alive and safe in his arms. He never wants to let go again.

 

He’s not sure what all this means. He doesn’t know if they’ll get back together and be happily in love until they’re two skeletons wrapped up in each other for eternity. He doesn’t know if they can go back that easily, if they can get over themselves and work it out the way Junhoe so desperately wants to.

 

But he’ll try.

 

God damn him, he’ll try for forever.


End file.
